


Take Me There [Where the Kingdom Comes]

by non_tiembo_mala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Priest Kink, Wincest - Freeform, Zero plot to speak of here people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 14:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17644919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/pseuds/non_tiembo_mala
Summary: Sam and Dean wind up crammed into a confessional while wearing their priestly getups, and Dean isn't one to let an opportunity pass him by.





	Take Me There [Where the Kingdom Comes]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merakieros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merakieros/gifts).



> I have been in a wicked dry spell in terms of writing. In my part of the world, January SUCKS! That's what I'm going with anyway. Hoping this teeny tiny fic I've eked out for SMPC with copious amounts of encouragement from my usual friends, betas, and collaborator the insanely talented merakieros will help get back into the swing of things.
> 
> Do yourself a favour and check out Andy's amazing [art](https://66.media.tumblr.com/63a1786a8c99be7ac094ade99db20724/tumblr_pmczx6MWoo1rs2lozo3_500.jpg). Leave her lots of love people! 
> 
> Sam and Dean in those suits are my ultimate weakness. I make no apologies for the self-indulgent and ridiculous fic below.
> 
> Title from Depeche Mode's _I Feel You_.
> 
> Beta'd by Jen ([gluedwithgold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gluedwithgold))
> 
> Enjoy?? *crosses fingers*

Sam huffs, trying to find a less uncomfortable position as quietly as he can in the small space afforded to him by the tiny confessional he’s sharing with his brother. “This is ridiculous.”

Dean’s answering exhale is amused, and Sam doesn’t need to look at his brother in the red glow of the single electric tea light to know the grin he must be wearing.

“These outfits were a bad idea. There’s no excuse for two priests to be sneaking around the cathedral like this. We should’ve just worn normal clothes.”

Sam can feel it when Dean shakes his head, feels the air on his chin when Dean _pffts_ , brushing him off.

“And miss out on a chance to wear these? No way, c’mon.”

“You’re such a child,” Sam shoots back, hushed, but even he has to chuckle at his brother’s enthusiasm for dressing up.

“Jesus, Sam, quit it. Just sit already, you’re not gonna crush me,” Dean snaps, swatting Sam’s hip to make his point. “If you don’t settle someone’s gonna know we’re in here.”

Sam huffs again, resigned, and sits his ass down on Dean’s knees, his own knees awkwardly splayed on either side of his brother, hunched over because the space is too low and he’s already knocked his head once, the confessional being meant for one average sized person to be sitting and not the Winchesters crammed in there together.

As Sam relaxes his weight as much as he can, legs too long to sit any closer to Dean or tuck into his lap, knees pressed into the hard wood, they listen. The footsteps and voices they heard that drove them into the confessional to hide recede but not completely. The conversation is out of earshot except in soft, unintelligible tones, so they’re obviously not immediately outside the confessional but they can’t exactly risk making an exit. All they can do is wait.

The confessional is warm, and so are their suits. Sam’s hair is refusing to stay tucked behind his ears with his head tilted at this angle, and sweat is starting to bead up on his skin. The air of the small space is heavy with the moisture of their breaths and bodies, dense with the smell of old wood and lingering incense. Sam chances a look at Dean’s face and his brother is looking right at him, eyes focused and dark in the low light, a small quirk in his lips.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean starts in a whisper.

“What?”

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Dean goes on quietly, teasing, his hands slipping along Sam’s hips to slide down and palm his ass through the soft wool slacks and making Sam jump.

“Dammit Dean!” Sam hisses, startled, hitting his head on the confessional when he jumps, much to Dean’s continued amusement. His brother chuckles under his breath but lets Sam settle again.

“Hey, we’re here,” Dean offers, and Sam feels him shrug, unapologetic.

“Unbelievable,” Sam scoffs, shaking his head at his brother’s unwavering libido.

“Also it’s ‘bless me,’ not forgive me,” Sam mumbles after a moment, unable to stop himself.

“Oh yeah?” Dean doesn’t sound too chafed to have been corrected, and his hands are on Sam’s ass again, gentler this time. “Well then.”

He pulls Sam in a bit closer, forcing Sam’s knees further apart until they’re as far as the space allows, braced in the corners, and Sam has one hand on Dean’s shoulder to keep himself from leaning against the wall.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Dean carries on in a whisper, hands kneading Sam’s backside. “It’s been a long fucking time since my last confession.”

“Dean…” Sam warns in a whisper, even as his body begins to react to his brother’s deliberate touches.

“It’s real serious, Father,” Dean ignores him, rubbing a finger along Sam’s crack over his pants. “I’m in big trouble. Special circle of Hell just for me. You see, I have unnatural thoughts about my brother.”

Dean has leaned forward now, tucking his face into Sam’s neck to kiss along the edge of the collar at his throat. When Sam swallows, it’s too tight, and his Adam’s apple bobs against Dean’s tongue.

“ _Dean_ …” Sam tries again but it’s even less convincing this time, especially as he tilts his head away to give Dean more access and arches his back to push into Dean’s hands.

“My kid brother, he’s good, _so good_ , I gotta have him,” Dean doesn’t stop teasing at Sam’s hole and speaking the words into Sam’s skin. “Every bit of him.”

Sam is breathing more heavily now, between the rising heat in the confessional and the way his brother is lighting up his blood, setting fire to his veins and making him strain against the delicate zipper of his dress pants. Sweat rolls down his face and drips off his nose onto Dean’s head and the shoulders of his suit jacket.

“I worship him and only him, I do, always will, and I ain’t sorry,” Dean snakes a hand between them to find Sam’s dick, making him suck in a breath and bite down on a moan, as if his big brother’s words weren’t enough already, turning some spur of the moment close quarters encounter into something so hot and, damn it all, serious.

“Jesus, Dean!” Sam drops his head awkwardly to Dean’s shoulder, keeping low to reduce the chance he’ll bang his head on the ceiling again, and the angle forces the hard ridge of the plastic collar to dig into his throat.

Sam squirms where he’s perched on Dean’s legs, and his big brother doesn’t miss a beat, knows exactly what he’s doing to him.

“It’s true, Sammy, c’mon,” Dean urges, rubbing at Sam as best he can given the limited space. “Be on my knees for you right now if I could fit, mouth at you right through these pants before taking you out.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam gasps, desperate and near a sob, lightheaded from the way the collar cuts into him, from his brother playing him as expertly as he always does, even when Sam was young and neither of them had actually been to Hell yet. Dean’s name is the only word he has space for left in his brain, only thing easy as breathing when it’s too hot to think and he’s sweating clean through the thin black cotton shirt under his jacket, coming apart embarrassingly quickly at Dean’s hands.

“Careful, little brother, if you can’t keep quiet we’re gonna be in real trouble,” Dean cautions, though he’s still grinning as he nips at Sam’s ear, nose in his hair.

Sam barely stifles a whine, his one hand on Dean’s shoulder digging in hard enough the shape might remain long after Sam lets go. It only eggs his brother on, and Sam is distantly aware that trouble may be unavoidable at this point, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“You’d like it too, wouldn’t you.” It’s not a question, and Sam can’t deny it either way, busy chasing the friction from Dean’s hand as best he can. “Get off on it, me on my knees, blowing you in a cathedral, in a _confessional_ , Sammy, look at you right now, fuck. And I thought I was kinky–”

Sam is going to pass out or melt to death if this keeps up too much longer and he can’t listen to his brother run his mouth another second. He kisses Dean, hard, and he can’t help moaning into it, the way Dean yields to him immediately, like he was fucking expecting it, the smug bastard. Sam can’t even be mad. The only thing better than the filth coming out of Dean’s mouth is the taste of it.

Dean is the one pinned here but he’s got all the stability and all the control while Sam is awkwardly perched on his thighs, trembling with the effort of not completely crushing his brother and everything Dean is doing to him. Sam does moan now, low and broken as he sucks Dean’s tongue into his mouth, desperate for it, for more, for Dean, something inescapable, so much a part of everything he is he can’t avoid it, it seems, even now when he should know better, when they’re working, when they’re _in a goddamn confessional_.

He breaks the kiss because he needs to gasp for air, and he awkwardly reaches up to push his hair back and out of his face so he can breathe, it’s so hot. Moving back, as much as he’s allowed, gives Dean some space to breathe, too, and more room to work at Sam’s dick, rubbing him through the thin material. It’s too good, the perfect pressure and pull of Dean’s hand, and Sam pants as he arches into it. The closer his brother gets him, the less he can bring himself to care about their surroundings.

“You close, baby?” Dean asks, hushed, eyes glued to Sam’s face. He already knows the answer, can read Sam easy as anything. “‘Course you are, look at you, so good for me, Sammy, yeah, that’s it, come on. Give it up for me, come on, _come on– yes_!”

Dean doesn’t let up when Sam does come then, nails digging hard into Dean’s shoulder while he struggles not to cry out, strangled sound trapped in his throat as he clings to his brother and rides it out, waves of white-hot, tight pleasure washing over him.

As it subsides, Sam does finally collapse onto Dean, all the way, legs shaking and chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He drops his head to Dean’s shoulder and his hands slide down Dean’s arms, not even hanging on. Dean ‘ _oofs_ ’ as Sam’s full weight settles on him, but he doesn’t complain, instead finally slowing his hand, just pressing against Sam gently now, and noses in along Sam’s ear. Sam can hear Dean’s dark, breathy chuckle, and Sam would roll his eyes or groan at whatever his brother thinks he knows, but he feels too good to give a shit right now. Maybe later.

Dean’s hands find their way to Sam’s face, tipping it up, and Sam winces when the one set of fingers are damp, the material of their suits so fine there’s no way Sam isn’t soaking them right now, no doubt about what Dean is pressing into Sam’s skin. Dean doesn’t seem to notice, definitely doesn’t care, and he catches Sam’s mouth in a kiss, deep but slow, lacking the urgency that would be more appropriate for their current predicament. Sam feels thick and heavy and heavenly, just lets his brother kiss him, and when Dean pulls back his smile might as well illuminate the interior of the ridiculous box they’re stuck in, big and flashy and smug as all Hell, but beautiful too, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes out in force equal to his amusement.

“I know I said you weren’t gonna crush me but you might be crushing me, Sasquatch,” Dean swats at Sam’s hip playfully. “Arrite, time to go. Before we both melt, or worse, get arrested.”

Sam starts to lift off Dean’s knees gingerly, his ass sore and his underwear sticking to him uncomfortably, starting to fumble behind him for the door handle. “But what about–”

“Oh, no, that’s why we’re leaving. You are definitely paying me back. Like, right now. Just not in here. Go on, move it!”

Sam chuckles as he backs out of the confessional on a silent prayer there isn’t anyone standing there. As luck would have it the coast is clear, and he breathes in deeply the cooler air, relieved, as Dean follows him out. Sam smoothes back his hair in an attempt to look less like– well, like his brother just got him off, but when he starts to smooth his suit jacket, Dean grabs him by the arm and starts him walking to the door, fast.

“Dean, what–”

“I’m not spelling it out here, Sam, hurry up,” Dean hisses, and there’s a hitch in his step that makes Sam grin even though his own gait is a little off on account of some pulling where certain things are starting to stick. He tries to discreetly readjust himself as Dean steers him out of the Cathedral, but Dean doesn’t miss it.

“And don’t you even think about taking off that suit yet,” Dean says knowingly. “We are so far from done.”

Sam’s stomach twists with want, caught out and a little embarrassed but undeniably turned on. Luckily, if the beautiful flush in his brother’s cheeks and the pace of their retreat is anything to go by, it looks like once again he and Dean? Not so very different after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking around! Comments and kudos are love <3


End file.
